About Breaking Rules And Falling In Love
by NeverMessWithTeddyBears
Summary: She is the president's daughter and you are her bodyguard and there is a set of rules you must not break but she makes you break some. AU. *Quinn/Mike*


**About Breaking Rules And Falling In Love**

* * *

_**AN:**_** At first, I wanted to do about ten rules, but my muse wasn't cooperating so this is all you get **_**:)**_** . I apologise if it feels a little rushed. Not my best work.**

* * *

You were trained for this since you were old enough to walk. Part of the new FBI experiment to make teenage agents to take care of all of those rich son-of-a-bitches who couldn't take care of themselves. And, how could we forget, those spoiled kids of theirs. FBI isn't really fond of using their reasources to protect '_spoiled-brats_'.

You don't mind. You were raised like this. You don't know any other way of living. You spent all of your childhood being trained in different kinds of martial-arts, you know ten laungages, and all of the other things required to be a perfect agent (_we'll just mention that when you shoot you don't miss_).

You still don't mind because, in some way, special agent Jack Johnson is like your father. Lets face it, he's the _only one_ who ever cared about you.

"Good news, Chang.", he walks in one day, a small smile on his face and a yellow file in his hand which soon enough finds its way to yours, "You've got a job."

That sparks your curiosity and you start opening the file, "What kind?"

"Protecting Russell Fabray's daughter."

"Protecting the _president's_ daughter?", you look surprised because protecting the president's daughter is a really big thing, "Are they for real?"

'_They should take someone more experienced._', you want to add but then you remember how much they hate bodyguard jobs and you keep your mouth shut.

"Yeah, it is, so you better _not_ screw it up.", Jack's face turns serious and he nods at the yellow file in your hand, "Stick to the rules that are written in there and _try_ not to break them.", he ends with a playful smile.

You nod and smile back, "I'm not promising anything."

* * *

**one.**

_Nothing matters but the girl._

* * *

When you first meet the president, he doesn't really trust you.

"They sent _you_?", he asks, a questionable look on his face, "Why? You're not even old enough to drink."

"I'm nineteen, sir,", you take a deep breath to calm yourself down because this guy, even though he _is_ the president, is starting to get on your nerves, "and they thought I'd be the best person for the job; no one will suspect that the teenage boy next to your daughter could possibly be an agent."

"Alright then,", he says and you can barely hold back the self-satisfied smile threatening to appear on your face, "follow me."

As you walk through the halls you take a look around. The decor is minimalistic and neutral-_the elections are coming up_, you remember-and there aren't much pictures on the walls.

You head to the living room and before you come to the door you hear someone laughing and you guess that you are going to meet the daugter in about twenty seconds.

As you walk in you see her smiling and you hear her laugh and you're mesmerised.

* * *

**two.**

_Keep her safe._

* * *

You were to accompany her to a fashion show that her mother made her go to.

"It's not like I don't like fashion shows", she tells you while putting her earrings on, "but, they're just too exausting."

You don't say anything (_you never were much of a talker_), but just nod-to prove that you were listening-and continue sitting on the chair just watching her.

She takes a silver necklace and gives you a '_do you mind?_' look and a shy smile and you just can't say '_no_' to her, so you get up and take a few steps to come closer. She gives you the necklace and turns around, lifting her hair up. You slip the necklace around her neck and, as you try to clip it, your fingers touch her skin and your heart skips a beat or two.

"Thank you.", she says putting her blonde hair back down and you get out of your daze.

"_Shall_ we?", you ask almost jokingly and give her your hand middle-age style. She looks up at you and smiles and, for the first time that night, it's reaching her eyes.

"Yes. We _shall_."

When you come there, she sits in the front row and you stand in the back. It's for the best, you know, because why attract attention. Plus, you have a really good view at her and you can keep her safe-that _is_ your job, after all.

"Look at her. Acting like she's all '_Little Miss Perfect_' when she's anything but."

You turn around, fear in your eyes, because what if they're talking about _her_? Some may say you're overreacting, and that they're probably talking about someone else, but you _know_ the voice is young and you could've _sworn_ that you saw a group of girls sitting in the back-right where the voice came from.

_You were right_.

A few blond girls sat in the far back, clearly more engaged in their conversation than the fashion show, even if their faces go in fake amazement and their eyes are following the models.

They keep throwing silent insults and critics, all with the smile on their faces (_because; what if they end up in the photos?_), and you get that feeling; the one when you know that you're failing.

This time-it's _protecting_ her.

You know that that rule is _actually_ about all of the other threats and that this has _absolutely_ nothing to do with it, but you just _can't _help yourself.

You feel looks on you and when you look from the corner of your eye you see that the same girls are stealing glances at you and hear slight whispers, but not once in the next few minutes do you hear the words '_Little Miss Perfect_' and you know they changed their attention to antoher subject; _you_.

Quinn seems bored and tired and can barely keep her smile on, so you walk over to her. You put your hand lightly on her shoulder and whisper in her ear;

"We can go if you want to."

Her cheek brushes yours and you know she's giving you her confirmation (_and you don't see it, but she smiles_).

You take her hand and you leave, but before you walk out the door you turn your head and see that each and every one of those girls has a jelaous look on her face.

* * *

**three.**

_As less physical contact as possible_.

* * *

You always thought this rule was stupid (_well, since the first time you read it_).

You know you promised Jack, but you break this rule on week two.

Charity event (_well, it was more like a dinner party, but if you want the most important people to come to it without excuses you say it's for a good cause_) held at the Fabray villa, security at it's best and you are ordered not to leave the daughter's side (r_eason number one-that is your job; reason number two-she's wearing very expensive '__**Bvlgari**__' jewels_).

It's always the same crowd, you notice, and you're already sick of them. They're all the same; rich snobs in their expensive suits and dresses, noses held up high.

She walks down the staircase, her dress the color of the sun, her necklace the same with green emeralds, her smile not as bright. She smiles at you (_this time, it's the real thing_) and you get closer and you smile back, taking her hand.

You stand beside her as she makes small talk with the guests and you whisper a few funny comments from time to time to keep her entertained.

"I mean, seriously, where did she find that dress?", you say in a girly voice. She laughs subtly and rolls her eyes, but you asume she doesn't like it either.

You walk through the crowd slowly and you come to the group of girls you saw at the fashion show, their backs turned to you.

The next thing you hear are pure insults and Quinn digs her nails in your hand and when you turn to face her, your eyes filled with concern, you see that her smile has fainted and that her eyes are getting blurred with tears. She shakes her head and turns to leave, but you hold her hand and make her face you. She's not looking you in the eyes (_she suddenly finds the ground and her shoes more interesting_), and you use your hand to lift her chin up.

"Don't cry.", you say, and, before she can shake her head and say '_I'm not crying._' or something in that style, you continue, "They're not worth it. You are beautiful-much more beautiful than _all_ of them together.", you see that she doesn't believe you and you want to shout at her and tell her how you can't stop thinking about her and how much you want to kiss her and how she makes you crazy but you calm yourself down and put your hand on her shoulder, "Look around you.", she turns her head, and sees a couple of guys talking and..

"Are they checking me out?", she whispers unbelievably and you think you saw a flicker of self-pride in her eyes.

"Yeah, they are.", you chuckle to yourself, "And, frankly, I can't blame them."

You let go of her shoulder and she looks at you, a devilish smile on her face.

"Dance with me.", she says, not a plead but an order.

You know you're not allowed to do this but you take her hand and a slow song plays in the background as you bring her to the small dancefloor. You waltz with her, her hand fitting perfectly in yours. You put your other hand on her hip, and her smaller one rests on your shoulder.

For the first time ever, you feel _complete_.

(_You never regret breaking this rule._)

* * *

**four.**

_Know the boundaries. Don't cross them._

* * *

She kisses you and the first thought on your mind is '_Jack's gonna kill me._'

You kiss her back and she puts her hands around your neck as you put yours on her hips and pull her up because why the hell do you have to be so _damn_ tall?

You break the kiss because, even if you don't want to, you have to breathe. She puts her forehead on yours and you steal one more kiss and she smiles.

"Jack is _so_ gonna kill me.", you say, and she just laughs.

"You have _no_ idea how long I wanted to do this.", she tells you, a smile on her face.

"I think I might."

You know the boundaries and you know you crossed them and you can't care _less_ because you got to _kiss_ her and you feel like you're on the top of the world.

"Mike."

"_Yeah_?"

"Kiss me again."

You do.

* * *

**five.**

_Don't get on the president's bad side-he can ruin the rest of your life with one phonecall._

* * *

"My dad didn't get reelected.", she says while walking into your room. You give her a confused look because she has a huge smile on her face and you just don't get it how can she be so happy when her father just _lost_.

"Which means..", she continues, ignoring the look on your face, "that you're not my bodyguard anymore.", she pauses and realisation hits you; you'll have to go and you won't be by her side and the expression on your face turns from confusion to pure sadness.

"Which means..", the look on her face is the same one a toddler has when he is about to tell a secret and you can't help but be intrigued, "that we don't have to hide anymore.", she finishes with a smile and leans on the doorframe and you jump excitedly and you take her in your arms and twirl her around the room and she starts giggling and you kiss her and you think life can't get any better.

You forget the rules, throwing the file and saying '_The hell with them._' You don't have to hide, because she's not the president's daughter anymore and you're not her bodyguard and there isn't a set of rules which you must not break and she can't make you break some.

You're thankful she made you break them before.


End file.
